Suicidal Memories
Sep. 1st, 2004 10:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
13thfallenangelAfter watching an episode of Without A trace, I am severely reminded of my early teens, the Hell I went through, the inferiority complex that I still have until today which still makes me feel like a complete dunderhead and idiot n complete screw up, n the actions that I took those early years. It didn't help that my father constantly called me useless, since I didn't know much about anything, I may be a walking encyclopaedia but it didn't mean that I immediately knew what to do with the information that I have. My mother's presence didn't help either, she didn't know anything about what I learnt n what I really like, n her constant nagging n pestering n her frequent privacy invasions really wore me down. They didn't seem to thinki that I'd like to do something else other than studying which admittedly I would do it last minute and come out with Bs anyways, they insisted I study, but I don't really see the glory in getting high scores since I already have a 'smart kid' status in class since primary school, being able to recite information from encyclopaedias n what nots n a good command of english. I usually stay in the top 20s, as I saw the top 10 as too cutthroat n I just wasnt interested. At all. I get bored very easily. And I constantly entertained the thoughts of violence and death. I'll be frank, I'v seen some gross things but my violence factor is low in comparison with others. N I always thought of suicide, since I graduated from running away from home. I'v always wanted to run away from home ever since lower primary. I felt trapped in my own home, my parents were too busy working and when they are at home, I couldn't even go out onto the lawn to play. My most vivid memories is of me staring out the front door that had it's grill locked n padlocked, the inside of the house was dim as compared to the sunshine outside. I could hear my neighbour's 2 daughters who were a year younger n older than me go out n play. I'd grasp the grills, watch them play if my vision wasn't blocked by a car, then go back to my toys that I had since forever(I rarely buy toys) n play with them with the sounds of 2 girls laughing n playing n arguing.
I talk to myself all the time, but whenever I pretend play a scene, I'm strangely quiet. Everything's in my head, that's all I had. I never learnt how to ride a bicycle, n I got so tired of asking to go out n play that I finally gave up when I was 9, n let my brains rot to Barney. I hate that show n still do, but I had grown tired with my toys. I remeber being very bitter n making sarcastic comments about bits of the show. I really wanted to run away then, just to escape n have all the other distractions that other kids have, that all my classmates have. I nearly did it once, but then I realized, I had no where to go. I couldn't go to my aunt's house. She always babysat me after school, n I got more freedom there n along with a surrogate older sister in the form of my cousin who is a decade older n a pervert who is her younger brother who enjoyed peeking at me whenever I bathed. My aunt made sure I did chores, n I was allowed to play in the lawn, as long as I don't go past the gate. We would go to the wet market or the supermarket or the bank. I had fun then. I even kicked my pervert cousin in the balls when he got too frisky once n he pinned me down. He didn't get far. N I discovered my love for novels there too, thanks to cousin Ivy, the eldest amongst the three. In fact, I see her as a big sister too, the kind that only notices u when she needs ur help. She's funny in her own way.
The best childhood memories r all at my aunt's place or when I'm pretending in my room. I don't have much with my parents, some because of my fault since I shut them out nowadays.
In my 14th year, I remember the thoughts of suicide that got overwhelming. Only very few know about this incident, n I think they might have forgotten it, seeing as I'm the kind of person that people prefer to ignore. I'm an attention seeker, I admit that one. I blush when I get praises, it's just too alien for me. I digress. One night, I was toying with a slim orange art knife. Been doing that for several days.Thinking about suicide n how it would be if I slit my wrist open with that knife. That particular knife was rather disgusting really, had glue left on it from who knows what. Finally, I slid out the blade n lowered it onto my wrist that was braced on the study table next to my bed. Only a few milimetres, n I could hear my heart thundering away, every beat echoing throughout my body. I went for it n pressed down. N I couldn't move my hand, with the blade away from the delicate skin of my wrist only a miniscule milimetre. I couldn't press down n I can't seem to draw the blade across my wrist.
I don't know how minutes were spent like that, me with wide eyes, fast heartbeat, trepidation n adrenaline rushing through my veins, poised in that position of readiness to cut my wrist open. After a while, fear started to creep back into my numb soul. I finally lifted the blade n expelled the breath that I didn't know I held. But I still wanted to hurt myself that night. I ended up trying out the steadiness of my hand by drawing the blade across the sides of my hands, u know between the thumb n wrist, the fleshy area? 32 cuts altogher, just enough to break the skin. There was very little blood since I slipped up 5 times n pressed to hard. Most of the cuts were done with my right hand, a few done with my left hand, since I am actually left handed but my mother decided that I should be right handed for uniformity with the other kids. Pathetic excuse, n I'm not kidding. That's wat she told me when I found out that I was actually left handed when I was 10. I was furious. That was another time that she had taken away a bit of my identity.
I still don't know why I couldn't kill myself that night. For some reason, my hand was frozen, n I could only move it upwards. I did raise it again n again to press down on my wrist, yet it would it stop there, a milimetre or so from touching the skin. Call it divine intervention, call it cowardice, call it fear. I readily admit I'm a coward too, pride n all. After all, cowards r the ones who do things in order to keep up their image while the courageous r the ones who do things for other's sake. Example? The guy who goes to confront the dragon just because he wanted to be known as the hero who killed the dragon. The hero would be the one getting ppl out of harm's way when said dragon comes to visit n he nearly gets his own ass burnt off or maybe even killed just so that others can live.
In every hero is a coward; and every coward has the seeds of courage.
Interesting stuff u can learn from reading harry potter fanfictions, including about being grown up.
Being grown up means taking responsibilty for your actions. Meaning, should what u did blows up in your face, u shouldn't go around blaming other ppl because of something that u decided to do. Reminds me of my mother, she blames everyone n everything around her. That's alot of adults out there who are very much children in this point. don't you think? I mean, they're practically following silly rules set out by others n when anything goes wrong, they just have to point the finger at somebody. They don't want to be involved or take any responsibilty. Maybe its because they don't know how to take responsibilty. Ever thought about that?
I talk to myself all the time, but whenever I pretend play a scene, I'm strangely quiet. Everything's in my head, that's all I had. I never learnt how to ride a bicycle, n I got so tired of asking to go out n play that I finally gave up when I was 9, n let my brains rot to Barney. I hate that show n still do, but I had grown tired with my toys. I remeber being very bitter n making sarcastic comments about bits of the show. I really wanted to run away then, just to escape n have all the other distractions that other kids have, that all my classmates have. I nearly did it once, but then I realized, I had no where to go. I couldn't go to my aunt's house. She always babysat me after school, n I got more freedom there n along with a surrogate older sister in the form of my cousin who is a decade older n a pervert who is her younger brother who enjoyed peeking at me whenever I bathed. My aunt made sure I did chores, n I was allowed to play in the lawn, as long as I don't go past the gate. We would go to the wet market or the supermarket or the bank. I had fun then. I even kicked my pervert cousin in the balls when he got too frisky once n he pinned me down. He didn't get far. N I discovered my love for novels there too, thanks to cousin Ivy, the eldest amongst the three. In fact, I see her as a big sister too, the kind that only notices u when she needs ur help. She's funny in her own way.
The best childhood memories r all at my aunt's place or when I'm pretending in my room. I don't have much with my parents, some because of my fault since I shut them out nowadays.
In my 14th year, I remember the thoughts of suicide that got overwhelming. Only very few know about this incident, n I think they might have forgotten it, seeing as I'm the kind of person that people prefer to ignore. I'm an attention seeker, I admit that one. I blush when I get praises, it's just too alien for me. I digress. One night, I was toying with a slim orange art knife. Been doing that for several days.Thinking about suicide n how it would be if I slit my wrist open with that knife. That particular knife was rather disgusting really, had glue left on it from who knows what. Finally, I slid out the blade n lowered it onto my wrist that was braced on the study table next to my bed. Only a few milimetres, n I could hear my heart thundering away, every beat echoing throughout my body. I went for it n pressed down. N I couldn't move my hand, with the blade away from the delicate skin of my wrist only a miniscule milimetre. I couldn't press down n I can't seem to draw the blade across my wrist.
I don't know how minutes were spent like that, me with wide eyes, fast heartbeat, trepidation n adrenaline rushing through my veins, poised in that position of readiness to cut my wrist open. After a while, fear started to creep back into my numb soul. I finally lifted the blade n expelled the breath that I didn't know I held. But I still wanted to hurt myself that night. I ended up trying out the steadiness of my hand by drawing the blade across the sides of my hands, u know between the thumb n wrist, the fleshy area? 32 cuts altogher, just enough to break the skin. There was very little blood since I slipped up 5 times n pressed to hard. Most of the cuts were done with my right hand, a few done with my left hand, since I am actually left handed but my mother decided that I should be right handed for uniformity with the other kids. Pathetic excuse, n I'm not kidding. That's wat she told me when I found out that I was actually left handed when I was 10. I was furious. That was another time that she had taken away a bit of my identity.
I still don't know why I couldn't kill myself that night. For some reason, my hand was frozen, n I could only move it upwards. I did raise it again n again to press down on my wrist, yet it would it stop there, a milimetre or so from touching the skin. Call it divine intervention, call it cowardice, call it fear. I readily admit I'm a coward too, pride n all. After all, cowards r the ones who do things in order to keep up their image while the courageous r the ones who do things for other's sake. Example? The guy who goes to confront the dragon just because he wanted to be known as the hero who killed the dragon. The hero would be the one getting ppl out of harm's way when said dragon comes to visit n he nearly gets his own ass burnt off or maybe even killed just so that others can live.
In every hero is a coward; and every coward has the seeds of courage.
Interesting stuff u can learn from reading harry potter fanfictions, including about being grown up.
Being grown up means taking responsibilty for your actions. Meaning, should what u did blows up in your face, u shouldn't go around blaming other ppl because of something that u decided to do. Reminds me of my mother, she blames everyone n everything around her. That's alot of adults out there who are very much children in this point. don't you think? I mean, they're practically following silly rules set out by others n when anything goes wrong, they just have to point the finger at somebody. They don't want to be involved or take any responsibilty. Maybe its because they don't know how to take responsibilty. Ever thought about that?
